


A lesson from the past

by Melittassecrets (melitta4ever)



Series: Kinktober 2018 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Abuse, Extremely Dubious Consent, Inflation, Kinktober 2018, M/M, Sick John Winchester, enema
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 10:20:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16157069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melitta4ever/pseuds/Melittassecrets
Summary: John wants his boy to be the best hunter there is. That obviously requires great stamina and exceptional pain tolerance.He’s doing this for Dean.For Kinktober 2018, Day 1: inflation.





	A lesson from the past

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags please; this isn't a nice, happy kink story.

“Dean, wake up.” John patted his son's head, brushing his messy hair off his eyes, revealing those adorable sun-kissed freckles.

Dean's face scrunched up with a childish whine, but sleep didn't free its clutches on the boy; he was slowly sinking back to the dreamland.

“Dean!”

That tone worked like a charm and his son was up right away. His eyes were wide open with panic, but that was perfectly okay. It was for the best for a hunter to be always vigilant.

“Come on, get ready. You know the drill.”

John went to the kitchen to prepare their breakfast. Protein dense with enough carb to give some energy and relax digestion. He might be a strict drill sergeant, but he wasn't gonna let his boys eat junk.

 

Dean slowly paddled in, hair still wet, tiny droplets dripping on his black t-shirt, looking young and innocent.

“I need you extra clean for today's exercise,” John said suddenly, a hunter definitely needed to look tougher than that. And Dean needed another endurance training. It had been a while.

“So soon?” Dean asked and even the fear in his tone told John that they had to do this more often. Dean should have been used to it by now.

“Go, keep at least a quart of cleaning solution in during breakfast.”

John had to up his game to increase his boy’s stamina and endurance. He had obviously been lacking if Dean started to believe it was okay to question an order.

 

Breakfast was a silent affair. Sam had tried to engage Dean for a small talk, but when it was obvious Dean needed all his attention to focus on eating, the kid had stopped. John knew Sam hated him for training them this hard; but it was for their own good. So, he tried to ignore the death-glare Sam sent his way every time John looked somewhere else.

When Dean crumbled down on his chair, obviously in pain, John took it to himself to massage his boy’s belly. The descending colon was hard, obviously full of gas.

Dean whimpered, hands clutching on the chair in an attempt to prevent himself pushing John away. At least he had learned this lesson.

“You should keep massaging to prevent gas build-up like this,” John berated him. It wasn't the first time Dean was doing this himself; but he kept forgetting, as if he actively resisted to learn.

“I don't think it's healthy to do enemas so often,” peeped little Sammy, his chin jutted up as it became his constant pose in the last few months.

“Don't talk about stuff you don't know, Sammy.” answered John curtly. His youngest thought he knew everything about everything since he had learned how to read. John knew it was mostly Sam being an adolescent boy, but still, he was  happy that Sam had school today. He really didn't want to listen Sam's constant complaining, passive aggressive innuendos or ever-judging gaze.

“Dean can't drive you to school today,” He said without looking at Sam, “Take the bike.”

Sam, expectedly, grumbled about being late which John knew the boy would blame him on that too.

The hardness in Dean's belly had softened finally, letting his boy breathe a little easier.

“Keep massaging while eating, Dean. You need the solution reach everywhere to clean or you'll be miserable later.”

He, then, returned to his own chair, watching with a-job-done-well satisfaction how Dean's hands kneading his own belly.

 

“How much this time?” Dean asked when he exited the bathroom, his voice almost shaking.

“Are you scared, Dean?” John let his voice boom. “This ain't something that could kill you or even maim you. Just a little discomfort makes you tremble? Really?” John had been going too easy with his boys.

“No, sir.” At least Dean had the piece of mind to not continue with the thousand questions.

Dean took his usual place on the floor, over the large tarp. They would have to turn him over a few times to make sure the kid could take the most, if not, all of the gallon in. This was going to be a good training. John should have done it more often. Way more.

He placed the nuzzle into Dean's tight little asshole, first massaging a little with his fingers to ease the way even though Dean clenched even tighter when John's fingers touched him there. It was another lesson John had to let go. If Dean didn't want to help himself by relaxing, he should suffer the consequences.

John made sure the nuzzle was far inside Dean's rectum, then he inflated the balloon securing the nuzzle as well as the liquid which would surely tend to leak.

It took them over two hours to finish filling Dean up. John had to move Dean, to his right, then left, then on his knees to keep the flow going. Constantly massaging, waiting and waiting. But it was worth every effort when the whole gallon of saltwater with hint of lemon juice filled Dean to the brim. The solution had distended that firm belly, protruding out of his body with nowhere else to go.

Dean's eyes looked even bigger, filled with unshed tears; he had been silently crying on and off. Those girly eyelashes were clamped together,  looking even longer and thicker than usual. His son looked too pretty like this. That's why Dean had to train even more. When he was in pain, Dean looked like he was begging for it. John couldn't help but pressing on that taut belly to check and only Dean's agonized screams told him that the boy wasn't really enjoying it. John couldn't have known that by just looking at the bitten-red lips, begging eyes or exposed neck. He sure had seen enough porn where people looked less erotic while spurting their jizz than how Dean looked at this moment.

  


First part of the training was easy, just letting Dean walk around and get used to his new center of mass with the heavier gut. Then came the regular exercises.

“Around the house, 10 times.” About a mile and half in total and John expected him to finish less than 20 minutes. “Each turn two minutes or less. Go!”

Today, John went easy and let Dean wear sweatpants. The boy had rolled the elastic down below his round belly which was pushing against the tight t-shirt like Dean was hiding a watermelon underneath. Even so, he was running pitifully; posture all wrong, shoulders curving in and down, disregarding everything he had learned so far and grating John's nerves like nails on a blackboard.

“Is this how you're supposed to run, Dean?” he bellowed next time Dean passed by and corrected his posture with a slap on his upper back. “Chest out, breathe deep!”

Dean's pace slowed down significantly before he could reach to the fifth lap. He obviously was not breathing well, face scrunched up, teeth grinding.

“You can't let pain control you, Dean. **You** must control the pain.” He pushed the slacking boy forward. “At least, control your damn breathing!”

Dean fell down a few feet further down.

“Stand up at this minute, Dean.” John couldn't believe how weak his son had become. He had to reorganize their training regimen.

Dean turned to his side and barfed his breakfast.

“I said stand up, soldier!”

“Yes, sir,” peeped the boy, got on his shaking legs and started running.

  


It took Dean more than half an hour to finish those 10 laps.

“Sam would have finished it faster than you,” said John, trying his best to convey his disappointment. This was an unacceptable timing. Pitiful. Shameful.

John left Dean squirming on the ground, barely holding on his sanity not to kick the boy to give him a lesson he couldn't forget. How many times John had told him, _going down meant death._ Especially when in pain, you had to stay up, you had to protect yourself.

 

“Dad?” Dean was up —finally— looking at him with wide, teary eyes.

“I've been going really easy on you it seems,” John started, not even trying to hide the disgust at seeing his son crying like a little baby.

He pulled the horses forward, the animals neighed impatiently, itching for a run.

“Dad, I can't.” Dean shook his head, eyes big as saucers, hands cradling his belly.

“Imagine a little Winchester lady back in the day, your age and pregnant, Dean. And tell me if you can't be half she was and ride this damned horse.”

Dean visibly stopped his train of thought; clearly had been thinking what he was going through was a unique torture.

“Those women had been working on the farms all day at back-breaking conditions until they were ready to pop, Dean. What I'm expecting you to try to endure it for half a fucking day. Can you do it, soldier?”

 

He had to lift Dean to get the boy on the horse. Yeah, it was going to be uncomfortable, but one could not get better without pushing his limits. John jumped on his horse and started a nice, brisk trot. The horses needed to open their legs too so maybe a couple of hours riding do all of them some good.

“Come on, Dean,” he yelled back, enjoying the coolness of the wind on his face. “I want you riding right next to me, boy!”

**Author's Note:**

> Do not try this at home, kids. I hope I managed to make it clear that John Winchester is not right in the head.  
> If enema is something you want to try, there are really good educational websites.  
> Don't take my kinky fiction as a recipe, it's a recipe for disaster this one.


End file.
